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He had no idea what he was dealing with.[break][break]

Great.[break][break]

His comments do not rouse a reaction—like a knife that was too dull to sink into the skin, Bailey Cooper felt no sting. She knew how battling looked—she knew how it was supposed to feel. It did not sound like the novice trainer, who shouted orders to their pokemon. It looked far more subtle. It looked like an encryption, where glances and smiles were codes for orders that a pokemon could follow.[break][break]

Some people had code words. Some people had hand signals. Some people whistled, but Bailey Cooper knew that even in silence she could let her orders speak volumes.[break][break]

She wondered if that early pokemon swap had been wise, as it gave something far more valuable than the power of any executed move—it gave her time.[break][break]

The moment to breathe. The moment to speak without addressing her pokemon.[break][break]

The moment to let her Krookodile process all of that information in the swirling sandstorm. He was not a whelp. He did not need his hand held. He took his own initiative.[break][break]

When two pokemon were deployed, her reaction was hidden by the disguise—an arch of the brow, followed by immediate recognition.[break][break]

Those two pokemon were only deployed for one fucking purpose.[break][break]

The series of explosions were sound-rendering.[break][break]

The disrupting winds that rendered the sandstorm had a similar effect on her attire—she can feel the way that the air tore past her, and it caught itself beneath the cusp of the helmet.[break][break]

And tore it straight off, making it hit the ground and roll away from the scene.[break][break]

A silence captured the crowd.[break][break]

Smoke cleared, and there stood Bailey Cooper, unmasked with a look of complete bafflement.[break][break]

Because the scene of the explosion revealed two unconscious pokemon, and neither were the Krookodile. Instead, what revealed itself was a hole situated in the middle of the storm where her Krookodile had executed dig. He had scrapped straight through the concrete, down to where raw earth could be seen.[break][break]

And who knew how far he had already managed to tunnel.[break][break]

“You are actually a moron.”[break][break]

Who in their right mind used explosion when they lacked visual on their target?[break][break]

“What in the goddamn.”[break][break]

All eyes focused on her, and the silence remained like it was one laced with fear. The jig was up. Her cover had been blown...but all she felt was a mounting frustration that made her burst.[break][break]

“Fuck, right when I when I was getting into a groove—fuck you. Holy shit,” but she continued as if she was ignorant of that revelation. “Who knocks out two of their pokemon like that? Two? All at once? On a gamble? Huh? Hello? Common sense? Why? Stupid sociobaths with their exploding voltorbs I swear to god you dipshits are a dime a dozen—” Her misspoken word was not acknowledged, as if that was how she thought it was actually said.

She slicked back her bangs. “Why do people act so goddamn smart but do this shit? Like, what in the goddamn possesses you people? Why do people think they're hot shit when they're hot garbage like can't a girl have some fun? Can't I get one good fight every once and awhile?!”[break][break]

Red in the face. Her chest burned as the Victory Star was denied.[break][break]

“Now I gotta do my goddamn job. I was hoping to just stand around, battle for a bit, and maybe—fuckin' maybe—get something valuable out of this, but nooooooooo, god forbid—I lost a motherfucking bet. A bet. Because this was supposed to be a grand ol' fucking time,” She dug through her outfit, pulling out her badge and radio.[break][break]

Krookodile, hearing all of the ruckus, burst up from the ground with a confused expression; burns lacing his arms reinvigorating old wounds, suggesting that the explosions had been able to navigate the tunnel he had been digging; he looked similar to a child watching his mother, wondering if he would also receive a verbal lashing.[break][break]

She put the radio up to her face.[break][break]

“Hey, Joe? Get the paddy wagon. Start the raid. I fuckin' tried... yeah, yeah, I owe you ten bucks. Fuck off. I almost made it twenty minutes, okay?” She hissed her breath like it was steam, coiling with the same intensity.[break][break]

She cleared her throat. “SLATEPORT PD. HANDS UP IN THE AIR WHERE I CAN SEE 'EM!”[break][break]

And that was when the silence broke, and chaos erupted across the stadium.

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She waited for the sun wax past noon—for when shadows draped long across the streets like streaks, painting contrast that sliced through the monotonous gray of the concrete.[break][break]

Bailey Cooper relished the security that came from her feet planted to the ground, ingrained as she followed the motions to the Slateport Gym, where her path was zigzagged by towering structures rebuilt from Rocket's destruction. It was time for a Gym Battle, and the Elite Four Member almost felt becalmed as she stepped through the parting glass doors.[break][break]

That would change. Battle beat like a war-drum that her heart could not resit.[break][break]

The front desk was her destination. Taking one last sip of her black coffee, she'd give it a toss to the nearest trashcan, pleased when her shot sunk.[break][break]

“Hey, I'm Cooper. I got an appointment... uh, wanna see my trainer card or something?”[break][break]

The plastic piece of identification would be slid across the counter—the picture of Bailey was dated, and but the scowl remained the same. She mimicked the dour expression just to convey authenticity.[break][break]

“I wanna do that flight challenge.”

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What pokemon was that?[break][break]

Bailey Cooper was only able to get a split-second glance of the Grimmsnarl before it was withdrawn to its capsule. A galarian pokemon, she presumed, as her eyes focused back to the fight and how it would unravel. New pokemon posed new risks, and her fingers flexed similarly to her krookodile at the potential challenge.[break][break]

Krookodile kept to the whipping sands, more than comfortable to stay obscured. No orders are exchanged between the two of them—no gestures, whispers, or other outward indicators.[break][break]

She picked herself up from the ground, brushing the dirt of the arena off from her knees. Her verbal exclamation did not weigh on her mind—as one of the more obscure members of the Elite Four, she knew that she was not easily recognizable.[break][break]

Besides, who could have known it was her from one off-handed comment? A freak, most likely.[break][break]

No pokemon were deployed—all she heard was her opponent and his declarations.[break][break]

Her head titled, and it felt like the pokeball-like helmet was ready to roll off her shoulders. An unpolished gem? Something to be refined?[break][break]

She thought of the rough, cutting edges of the red orb—how the power it possessed abided by no standard. It was strong because it existed, not because it was trained to be.[break][break]

“Are you stupid?” Crude in nature, what would stand out was the empty happiness behind the eyes of the mascot mask. “I'm already stronger than you.” She spoke without confidence. She spoke as if it were fact.[break][break]

The itch. The fire. Her hand scratched at the material above her chest, against the collarbone.[break][break]

“Deploy your next pokemon. Take your ass-beating like everyone else.”

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